Not a Saint
by InTheVast
Summary: There's always a way out. You just have to find it.


Title: Not a Saint  
  
Part: 1/1?  
  
Pairing: Draco/Ron  
  
Rating: NC-17ish/Rish (lots of violent, gay sex, and f words, as usual :P)  
  
Author: Emileigh (blackrosesfalling@yahoo.com)  
  
Fandom: HP  
  
Disclaimer: No ownership. Do I even need to say this? T_T  
  
Notes: I wrote this when my mouth was pumped full of Novocain, and other foul dentist chemicals. I was also in a really bad mood. Yeah this is for um, Meixia cause she can tolerate my head issues for a few seconds at a time. This is for you babe.  
  
He was so fucking piss drunk it was laughable. But I didn't laugh when we tumbled down the stairs to the Slytherin dungeons. I had no laughter anymore, no smiles. I was all intent calculations, and carefully thought out jagged edge.  
  
He thought I was drunk too, but I was so sober, so immune to alcohol, that I was aware of everything, the way my breath stirred his hair, the way his cheeks flushed red when my hands wrapped around his waist to pull him close.  
  
"Gettorf." I heard him mumble. But his limbs were so liquefied; there was no real fight in him. No resistance to the burn.  
  
At the moment I remembered him at breakfast around a year ago. It was near Christmas and my feelings were still an indecipherable haze of lust and violence. How I had hated and despised how I wanted something of Potter's.  
  
That day he came to breakfast late, snowflake hypocrisy in flame hair. Potter handed him a cup of hot coco, and helplessly I watched him gulp the heat down; helplessly I witnessed the rim of chocolate on his slut lips that remained for the rest of breakfast.  
  
Time shifts and now he is on my bed, half naked. Inch by inch of his skin is revealed through cursory movement. But there is no vulnerability in his expression, or actions. No, instead he seems fiercer then ever. Challenging even. At this moment, my wrong words could bring the fury of hell out of him.  
  
So I say nothing. And I am breathless when he hooks his arms around my neck and kisses me. His mouth is hot, suffocating. Demanding. I give in to you. There is no time for consequences, or thought for the need that is in both of us, both feudal and passionate.  
  
His hands hold my hips down as he pulls my robes up, taking control, staring into my eyes and stroking my cock through the sweaty fabric of my underwear, I can tell how much he's enjoying this. His self-satisfaction is emanating from him, as his hands snake around my erection, and I'm forced to bite my lip to keep from moaning at the sensation.  
  
And I actually like it. Never mind his clenched jaw and stubborn silence; I see every wave of pleasure reflected in those blue eyes. He loves doing this to me. His thumb is rubbing around and over the head at the top of each stroke. My breathing grows fast and ragged, hissing through my teeth. Without warning he lowers his head between my thighs and his tongue, his fucking TONGUE- licks catlike up the underside of my erection, and I know without doubt that he's done this before, that he's a filthy Weasley slut and I don't care, that I'm going to fuck him, and I know that he's masochistic enough to want it.  
  
And on the rebound. I watch his head bob up and down on my erection, and I can't help but wonder where Potter is. Because I know that's what it's all about, that through every single thought, through every single thing he does, it's all about Potter. And right now I'm guessing it's all about Potter and revenge.  
  
His wanton tongue is still circling up and down my cock, and then his mouth opens and he tries to tease, and I thrust up, my fingers knotting in his hair, forcing the tight ring of his mouth to take it all in. I feel him gag. "Deal with it bitch." I say, and then thrust up into the silk heat of his throat a few times just to piss him off.  
  
When I release his head, his mouth releases my erection with a wet sound, and in a flash of skin I'm blind. He's punched me hard in the face. Fuck Weasley. Goddamn. I look up at him through one eye, taking in swollen lips and red face.  
  
"If you ever do that again I'm leaving." He says. And I'm gingerly cupping my eye in pain, with a little bit of newfound respect. I had thought he would take it, maybe cry a bit. But instead he fucking punched me. Maybe this isn't about revenge at all.  
  
He does look kind of lovely, sitting on top of me, robes loose, showing pale, bare shoulders. "You're not leaving, where else are you going to go?" I say boldly, my arms wrapping around him.  
  
"Fuck you." He slurs.  
  
I can only laugh because he's got it wrong. I am going to fuck you Weasley. Whether you like it or not. He's uneasy at my laughing, maybe he's beginning to think he's a little over his head.  
  
He's right.  
  
I use his hesitation to flip positions. "Like this Weasley?" I ask, my mouth close to his ear. I pull his robes up. Nice. No underwear. "What people say about you is true. You really are a whore."  
  
I watch the reaction on his face to those words. Your shame is delicious Weasley. I start unstringing the sleeves on his robes. Jesus, these were fashionable in the 60's. I pull the garment down to his waist, so I can really look at him.  
  
The breathtaking color of his hair and eyes, the tainted blush of his lips are the only touches of color on him. Even his nipples are pale, pink things. I have the irresistible desire to put my mouth on them, to seek out his heartbeat with my mouth. To have my lips on the entirety of the pale body under my hands, to mark my temporary ownership of his flesh.  
  
He's shivering in my arms, so I possess his lips to generate heat. Tease my tongue with his; find heaven in the wet silk of his mouth. My fingers creep down to the curve of his ass. Knead the flesh possessively; let my fingers ghost over the crevice. Mine. For now.  
  
I pull away; suck 3 of my fingers into my mouth, swished spit on them. "Spread your legs." I say. I see a hint of resentment, but he does it. The old glare is back in his eyes. But it doesn't really matter because for now he is obedient, spreading his thighs apart, hooking one knee over my shoulder.  
  
His face is red as my hands move under him, pulling closer, pushing his legs even farther apart. He turns his face aside, pressing it into his own hand to quiet any moans. Weasley's cock is already unbelievably hard, if I blow air on it, he'll probably come everywhere. I shove a wet finger inside of him. Velvet smooth. Hot, and impossibly tight. I listen to his pants for air with amusement.  
  
I pull my finger back only to add another one before repeating the slick invasion. I thrust my fingers in and out, stretching his muscle open as wide as possible. Curl my fingers; mercilessly striking that spot of pleasure I knew that lay just inside. He's so clenched up, so tense, nervous. I add another finger. Plunge those in and out mercilessly. I love the way he writhes under me. And I can see how much he hates it. How much he's trying to fight fucking himself on my fingers.  
  
So maybe I was wrong. Maybe it's not about vengeance. Maybe it's about control. But he must be pretty stupid to think he's going to get that from me.  
  
Should've stayed with Potter, Weasley. I'm not about to make love to you, whisper sweet nothings into your ear. I am going to fuck your brains out.  
  
I pull my fingers away; memorize the look on his face. Then I'm taking my cock, slicking my wet fingers over it. Weasley, you actually look scared. Priceless.  
  
I push my cock inside of him in one swift motion, all the way to the hilt. It feels really good He cries out like a little baby, tears on his face. What the fuck? It makes me angry for some reason, and then I realize that maybe I am a little drunk. The eye that I'm looking out of is blurry, the other one too swollen shut to test. I push in harder, make my thrusts deep. Feel the muscle give away, and then it suddenly becomes so much easier.  
  
He's crying out like I'm ripping him apart. "Stop!" He keeps saying.  
  
Fuck you Weasley, literally.  
  
His nails claw into my back, but the tiny pain does nothing to stop the sensations in my body, the need to completely violate him, to possess him like Potter never has.  
  
With another savage thrust I find his spot, and he moans incoherently, half crazed, half drunk. I reach down and stroke his wilted arousal, stroke it back to full erection. And then he's arching his back, so that each thrust hits that spot over and over again. My body seems mechanical, intent on having nothing less then what his body can give me completely. At this moment I feel completely separate from my body.  
  
He is so close, and I pick up the pace, watching him intently and wondering what his orgasm will look like. Will he cry out? Will he say my name? Perhaps Potter's? He spasms in my arms, screaming incoherently, and I follow a little after, collapsing boneless on top of him. I can feel the wet sheen of his tears against my face, feel him trembling against me. And that's when I realize it; there's blood smeared all over the backs of his thighs... What the fuck? He pushes me off of him, and I just sit there stunned as he stumbles out of the bed, grabbing on to the wall for support.  
  
He's trying to get dressed, but his robes are rumpled, torn where I got impatient. It's not going to be an easy task. I'm still trying to figure out what the hell just happened.  
  
"Don't tell anyone about this." He says, breaking the silence. I watch him wipe something invisible off his face.  
  
"What that I took your virginity?" These words aren't smug, aren't even self-satisfied. I don't even understand how this happened.  
  
"Sod off Malfoy, or I'll give you another black eye." He says warningly, stringing the ties in his sleeve tight. Virgin. Virgin. The word echoes in my mind. So does my door, as it slams shut.  
  
If I were saint Potter, I'd go after him. Confront him. Make him tell me why. But I'm not Potter, and I never will be. And Weasley damn knew it. 


End file.
